


i can try to bluff

by insunshine



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Established Relationship, Feelings, Future Fic, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 18:33:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17792549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insunshine/pseuds/insunshine
Summary: Valentine's Day, 2021.





	i can try to bluff

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gdgdbaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gdgdbaby/gifts).



> Ever since Cameron was a guest on the show, I've been obsessed with the idea of him and Jon making out. I've made that desire a reality with this very dramatic, feelings-heavy story. I hope you dig this, Lucy! I had a lot of fun with it.

Cameron’s had one boyfriend before this — Sammy Ferris, for eight months and most of sophomore year — and they didn’t really do anything for Valentine’s Day. There was a dance, or maybe a homecoming thing, but the drama club was doing monologues from Hamlet that weekend, and he’d needed time to focus. Sammy hadn’t been psyched about that, and he thinks they’d fought about it, but the details are fuzzy. Trying to remember makes his head hurt.

Anyway. Anyway, that’s it. He’s not expecting Jon to do anything fancy. He’s pretty sure they’re both on the same page about this kind of commercialized couple shit. On top of everything else, it’s the anniversary, so even though Jon’s said, “I love you”, even though Cam can’t go a week without crashing at his place, it’s hard not to feel like the other shoe of dating damaged goods is going to drop sooner rather than later.

Be vigilant. Stay on high alert. 

His phone starts buzzing relentlessly in the pocket of his sweats while he’s trying not to fall asleep in Econ, but he was late getting out of bed this morning, so he’s stuck in the front of the lecture hall, and this professor must be part robot, because the lady has laser eyes, tracking anybody who even remotely looks like they’re texting with intent focus.

Fifty minutes later, he’s out of class, and he has fifteen text alerts, half of which are from… Lovett.

 _It’s possible your pal Jon has put himself in a precarious situation_ , says the first one. The second says, _Your friend Jon as in ME. Did you take your car to campus today? I might need a ride._

 _Isn’t your podcast sponsored by Lyft?_ Cam sends back, swiping through the rest of his messages to make sure nothing is on fire, before he pockets the iPhone and heads toward the parking lot.

Lovett‘s place is sort of on the way to the office, which isn’t at all on the way to school, but he can probably make it out there, drop off his stuff, kiss his boyfriend, and be back on time for his Spanish lecture, if traffic is working with instead of against him for once.

 _Yes, and?_ Lovett has sent back. Just yes. No further explanation. No apology. 

Cam has gotten pretty close with all of the people in Jon’s life, and they’re all kind, loving folks, who make him laugh, who make him feel safe, and protected, too, but after Jon, Lovett is probably his favorite. He’s always himself, and he doesn’t take shit from anybody. It’s nice.

 _I’m on my way, I guess_ , he voice texts, turning on the Thursday pod before he leaves the parking lot, even though he’s heard it already. Jon’s voice is an anchor, soothing, and mindlessly listening to him and Dan take a detour and talk about Syria isn’t exactly pleasant, but it still helps, killing the drive time between one location to the next.

At Lovett’s, the lights inside the house are off, but the man himself is sitting out front with his backpack at his feet, Pundit in his lap.

“You’re here!” he says. His voice cracks as he gets up, the dog scrabbling her nails against his sweatpants. “That was fast. Do you have a magic carpet?”

“Ha ha,” Cam says. “Nice reference. No. Just Jon’s truck, as usual. What’s going on? Your car is here. You look like your arms and legs and thumbs all work. Just wanted to see me?”

Lovett’s face does something soft and open, this warm little smile that Cam has been on the receiving end more often than not. 

“You have a pleasing face. Of course I do,” he says with a little shrug. He rubs his hands on his pants, wrapping Pundit’s leash twice around his palm, and whistling for her. “Mind driving me to work?”

“Shouldn’t you be there already? This seems like a pretty delayed start, even for you,” Cam says, tugging out his phone to look at the time. It’s after 11. “We’re taking ‘fashionably late’ to the next level, huh?”

“Hey!” Lovett says. “Hey. I had an off site and then the Jeep wouldn’t start. Hey! Young upstart. Don’t start with me.”

“If you didn’t want the sass, maybe you should have called somebody else,” Cam says on a shrug, but he’s grinning as Lovett buckles Pundit into the backseat.

When he slides in on the passenger side, he’s grinning too. “I don’t know why we keep you around,” he says.

“The blowjobs, probably,” Cam says on a shrug. He forces a laugh. 

It’s easy to remember that Jon loves him when they’re in the same place, when he’s with Jon’s friends or his family, and they’re telegraphing all that adoration back at him. It’s harder when he’s alone. On the other hand, Jon is about as subtle as a jackhammer, and he’s been hinting about giving Cam a key, maybe asking him to move in at the end of the semester, so… maybe there’ll be a lot less alone time soon, anyway.

“There are things I never need to know,” Lovett says, cutting through Cam’s thoughts and curling his mouth up in disgust. “Your bedroom habits are your business.”

“My _bedroom_ habits? You’re making it sound like we have a sex swing.”

“A sex swing!” Lovett gasps. His voice cracks again, and it’s so funny, Cam has to dig his teeth against his lip and keep his eyes straight ahead to keep from laughing. “I hate you. Now I’m imagining Favreau in head-to-toe leather. This is awful. I need to bleach my brain.”

“What makes you think Jon’s the one in all that leather?” Cam asks, poking his tongue lewdly against his cheek, as he signals to take the left into the Crooked HQ parking lot. 

It’s bullshit, obviously. He’s never been into ropes and ties, and if Jon is, he hasn’t brought it up in the two and a half years they’ve been fucking around. Still, the look on Lovett’s face is priceless.

“What have I ever done to deserve this? I’m so courteous. So kind,” Lovett mutters to himself, unbuckling his seatbelt as Cam idles the truck in front of the building. “What, you’re not coming up?” he asks.

Cam looks at the clock on the dash again, calculating how much time he’ll have to get back to campus if he heads upstairs for a short visit. “I have a lecture at 1:30. If I miss another class, I’m gonna tank the midterm, dude. Say hi to everybody for me, though.” 

From the back, Pundit growls at an invisible assailant, while Lovett gnaws on his thumbnail and types one-handed. A second later, Cameron’s phone buzzes in his pocket.

“Really, Brutus?” he says to Lovett, because of course it’s Jon. 

He doesn’t even need context clues. Early on, he’d assigned a specific text tone to Jon’s number. The quick-tap-burst of the those vibrations never fail to make him smile, even when he’s trying to be responsible for once.

 _Leo can see your truck from the office window and he’s pawing so hard to get out_ , the message reads. 

Even though he obviously can’t see them from the parking lot, not from this angle, or with the way the sun hits the glass, he peers up through the windshield anyway, trying to catch a glimpse.

“This is a low blow,” he says to Lovett, swinging the truck around to park in one of the ‘reserved’ spots in front, and texting the same back to Jon.

“We all have pressure points,” Lovett says with a shrug. “It’s good to know you go weak kneed for middle aged men and their needy dogs.”

“I’m blaming you if I fail out of this class,” he mumbles, reminding himself to grab his keys out of the ignition and lock up behind him. There's not much about living in LA that clashes with his Central Florida upbringing, but that’s probably the most glaring habit.

“I’ll pay for the make-up class out of pocket, if it happens. How about that?” Lovett says once they’re inside and waiting in the elevator bay to head upstairs. 

He’s the type of person to jam the up arrow five times in a row, even though it’s been scientifically proven that pushing those buttons more than once doesn’t actually accomplish anything.

When the doors finally do slide open, he lets Pundit down, mumbling something to her that Cam can’t hear. In the time it takes to climb up all ten floors, she butts her head against his calves so many times that he has to scoop her up.

“You’re so easy,” Lovett says. Cameron can’t see his face, but it sounds like he’s smiling.

“Never said otherwise,” he mumbles, and the doors are dinging open again.

Somewhere, in the inner recesses of his mind, maybe Cam was expecting something like this. There are no loud noises or dimmed lights. There’s no crowd or much of a surprise, except for Jon, standing a few feet back, hands full of a bouquet of roses and something else Cam can’t quite make out. Leo’s seated next to him, as calm and still as a statue, but he flies into action when he catches sight of Cameron and Pundit, barking out his delight.

“What,” he mumbles, more a grunt than anything else, setting down Pundit when she starts to nip at his arms.

“You’re like, vehemently anti-Valentine’s,” Jon says sheepishly. “I know why. Obviously, I know why, but I wanted this small surprise to make you smile. Ease some of the burden of it, maybe.”

 _Maybe_ , Cam thinks, the word ringing through his head on repeat. He doesn’t realize his cheeks are wet until Jon steps closer, handing the stuff he’s been holding to Lovett and reaching out. He’s gentle. Jon is always gentle, but that doesn’t lessen the magnitude of it, or how it feels to have his large palm cradling Cam’s cheek.

There are at least fifteen different things Cam could say here, like, “I love you,” or, “please don’t ever break up with me, I don’t think I could bear it,” or even, “I know I’m a bad investment, but why don’t we get married? I’m so ready, aren’t you?”

Instead, he clears his throat and says, “I have to get to class. Bonus points for the grand gesture, man. This was so surprising and nice.”

Jon’s too much of a pro to let his face fall, but something flickers briefly in his eyes before he steps back and says, “Yeah, of course. You want a ride back to campus, or…?”

Cameron jingles his keys awkwardly, very aware that the truck he drives belongs to Jon. That he spends most nights cozied up in Jon’s arms, in Jon’s warm, comforting home doesn’t bear thinking about right now.

“Yo! How’d the surprise turn out?” Somebody asks, coming out of the kitchen on the other end of the office. 

“Oh, hey, Travis,” Cam says, trying to smile at all three of them at once. He can’t make eye contact, and the office feels stuffier than it had a few minutes ago. “It went good. Who'd've thought this guy would be so into romance, huh?”

Jon makes a tight, awkward, noise in his throat, and says, “I’m heading out to grab lunch. Anybody want some pizza while I’m out?”

Lovett had been walking away, but he pauses and says, “I do not want your melted cheese and bread, but I will take a burger if you’re buying.”

“You want company?” Tommy asks, walking out of their office still zipping up his fleece, Lucca trotting excitedly beside him. “She hasn’t pooped since last night, and I’m getting kind of stressed about it.”

He looks serious. He sounds like he means it, but Cameron can’t shake his unease. They’re like a three-headed monster, sometimes. Cam had known, before he and Jon got involved, but it’s different, being the subject of scrutiny, even if it’s not mean-spirited or pointed.

“I’m just gonna walk Cam out,” Jon says.

“That’s code for, ‘I’m going to tell Cameron I love him, and then stare deeply into his eyes, so he knows I really mean it’,” Travis says, snickering at his own joke.

Cam can feel himself blushing, and Jon looks a little flushed too. At least right now, they’re a matching set.

“Leo, stay,” Jon says, bending so that he’s at eye level with his dog, and whispering something to him Cameron can’t quite hear. 

It makes his heart squeeze, tight and overwhelming, and he can’t stop himself from saying, “Bring the dog, man. That’s your whole schtick, right? Handsome guy with dog. Can’t disappoint your adoring public.”

Jon straightens up and says, “As long as I’m not disappointing you, what do I care?”

It’s so sweet. As they wait for the elevator, Jon reaches out and tangles their fingers together, and that’s sweet too. He sweeps his thumb across the back of Cam’s knuckles once, and it’s hard not to gasp out loud at the intimacy of it.

When they’re alone, Jon bumps their shoulders together and says, “Hey, I’m sorry for the ambush. I just wanted to give you something.”

Cam’s eyes are burning again, and he says, “Jon, what the fuck. You give me _everything_.”

They crash together so hard it sort of hurts. Jon’s hands are huge and hot on Cam’s shoulders, on his back and on his ass, curling tightly against his neck, tilting his head so that he can hold him firmly, exactly the way he wants to.

With Jon’s hands on his skin, it feels like the noise in his brain has finally stopped. When the doors open on the ground floor, the soft ping is louder than an alarm, and pulling away is so much harder than it should be.

“Fuck, I don’t want to go back to class,” Cameron moans, dropping his head to Jon’s shoulder. “Who cares if I fail out of Spanish? Who needs it?”

“You need it,” Jon says. “Come on. I’ll walk you to the car.”

“Jon,” Cam whines. “Jon, take me home and let me fuck you. Jon, baby, please. Let’s just take the day off. Turn our brains on silent. Fuck until we tire ourselves out. I need it. You have no fucking idea what it’s like for me today.”

He doesn’t mean to say that last part, but he can’t help it. Jon doesn’t flinch back. Jon doesn’t do anything but keep his gaze even. By his sides, his hands are curled into loose fists, and the only sign that he’s affected at all is that his breathing is harsh and heavy, a rasp on every other swing.

“Okay,” he says. He pulls his phone out, presumably texting Lovett and Tommy and maybe Juliet. “Let’s go home. Let’s do whatever you want.”

Cameron opens his mouth to argue, but — to argue against what, exactly? That his boyfriend is treating him like an adult, like he has a partner in all this instead of a dad, or a guardian? That he — “Fuck, okay. Let’s go home. Lovett said he’d pay the tuition if I fail out of this class anyway.”

Jon laughs, following him out to the parking lot. He’s tangled their fingers together again, so easy and light, it barely feels like anything.

“I don’t think you’ll fail,” he says diplomatically, “but if you do, make sure to take him for all that he’s worth. He’s still got development money socked away.”

“No shit?” Cameron asks.

“No shit,” Jon says.

They’re quiet for most of the ride, but at the stoplight two blocks over from the house, he reaches out, pressing his hand to Cam’s thigh, and says, “Before I lose my mind entirely, um. I wanted to bring something up with you. Move in with me, Cam. Share the house and the dog and my life with me, please. Be with me, on a more than semi-permanent basis.”

He’s been expecting it, sort of. He’s been expecting it, in the way where you expect a punch to the face moments before knuckles come crashing against your skin. He’s been expecting it, but it still makes him gasp out loud.

“Jon,” he says. He’s never wanted anything as much as he wants this. “I don’t know if this is a good idea.” 

It feels like the words have been crowding in his throat for days. It’s probably been longer than that, honestly, but he’s gotten really good at compartmentalization. 

Instead of arguing, Jon says, “Tell me why,” which is so typical. “Tell me what you’re thinking. It doesn’t have to be now.”

He doesn’t move his hand, and Cameron reaches down, circling Jon’s wrist, and then taking the turn for his street.

“What if I don’t want to?” he says in a small voice. “What if I’m never going to want to? What if I’m never ready?”

“Is that true?” Jon asks. He’s taking great pains not to let any emotion leech into his voice one way or another. “That would be okay, too.”

Cameron parks on the street in front of the house, then lets himself sink forward, resting his head on the steering wheel. 

“No,” he mumbles. He keeps his eyes closed. “No, Favs. It’s not fucking true. Of course I want to live with you. I practically live with you already.”

“Yeah,” Jon agrees. “I was just hoping for something more permanent and official.”

“Don’t tell me there’s, like, an explosion of rose petals and an engagement band inside that house. I don’t think I can deal with that right now.”

Jon shakes his head. “No roses. No proposal. I just want to be with you.”

;;

It’s not a secret or anything, but Jon isn’t the first person he’s ever slept with. Cam has bottomed before. After the breakup with Sammy, he’d messed around with a few of the guys in the drama club, with David a few times. He’d been _around_ , but none of that childish, awkward fumbling had been anything like this.

They make a mess in the front hallway, Jon making quick work of his shirt and khaki shorts, fingers skimming softly against Cameron’s bare stomach and arms. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says, and it’s cheesy, but he’s a cheesy guy, and besides, it always feels so good because he means it.

“I’m scrawny,” Cam says, shoving his sweats and underwear down in one smooth movement. He’s gone to Barry’s with Tommy and Lovett a couple times a week for about a year, so he knows he looks pretty good, at least as good as he can with what he has to work with. 

Still. Jon hisses in a sharp breath, covering his face with his palm, and says, “Cameron, you’re perfect. Can you come over here, so I can touch you, please?”

“Why don’t you come over here?” Cam jaws back. “Jon, fuck. All I ever do is think about touching you.”

“You and me both, bud,” Jon says, and then they’re kissing again, more than half naked in the middle of the living room. 

They don’t even make it back to the bedroom, Jon falling back against the couch, tugging Cam in by the hips. “What do you want?” he asks, only has to clear his throat twice to get the words out.

“Whatever you want,” Jon says. It’s what he always says. “A blowjob, maybe? I don’t know.”

“You don’t _know_?” Cam says, sinking down and running his hands down Jon’s splayed thighs. “You’re so hot, I hate it.”

“You do not,” Jon says. “You like how I look.”

“Yeah,” Cam says, but Jon’s still beaming at him, and he has to smile back. He couldn’t stop smiling if he tried.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @gigantic and @sonni89 for the edits and the handholding. Title grabbed from a lyric in Noah Reid's beautiful, "False Alarms".


End file.
